Ripples In Wilderness
by arctique48
Summary: She sees things in the water. Sitting at night to watch them surface. She sees laughing children, the sobbing aged… She sees fire and ice, dragons and ghosts… But most frequently, she sees him.


**Disclaimer: Hogwarts etc belong to JKR**

The lake is her sanctuary in the wilderness of reality. The shadows understand the woes of her soul. Each ripple echoing another age of the Earth.

Since her very first year she has loved the lake. From the restless water swelling and falling on her first trip across its black expanse to now, as she kneels in the reeds, water lapping at her thighs. She is at home here, with the peaceful quiet of the water and the insects. The castle does not understand her, but the lake -ancient beauty of nature- knows her well.

In her first year the cold water of January caught her tears. The ripples sung comfort as she clutched ruined parchments to her chest. She would come here often, to the far side of the grounds, where the castle was but a distant memory seen through the branches of a pitying willow.

Seasons passed and February bought her distance. In the solitude of her sorrow she would sit and whisper to the voices that spoke in the lapping water of her confidant. It was that second February that bought her first dream, her first vision from beneath the ice. Within the water she saw her mother's face, smiling softly. The picture was gone within seconds, but she stayed there all through the night in the hopes of another glimpse of a past she longed to be returned to.

Her third year and the visions grew. She would sit in the sharp chill of March to watch the images flicker and die. She had taken up divination but the lessons provided nothing to what she would see here. Images of her tormenting peers, her professors, herself, all unfolding in silence, opening to her a whole world detached from her own. April slipped away while she sat among the daffodils, from her reclusive haven watching past and future unfurl before her eyes.

She sees many things in the water. Sitting at night to watch, memories surface. She sees laughing children, the sobbing aged… She sees fire and ice, dragons and ghosts… But most frequently she sees him.

They would call her Looney, but it was only because they did not understand. The lake never called her names. The lake knew her. Its deep water understood her. She met him for the first time on the train. She had thought his eyes were very green. She had seen him before (who hadn't?) but never so close as to witness the darkness that hung behind his emerald eyes… She saw him far more often than he was aware. Under the silence of the Beltane skies she watched him, his worry and his wrath played before her and she found she understood him. They were more alike than he wished to believe.

She sees him fly, sorrows forgotten as his broom traces lines across the clear water sky. She sees him laugh, bright ripples on a summer afternoon… Often she sees him cry. When the sky is dark and stormy over the lake she watches his tears, pounding at the water in unleashed emotion. Tears of anger, depression and desperation. In his despair she finds strength, for his weakness shows her she is not alone.

June and July saw her sitting with the thestrals. She found they liked her company, though perhaps they too were simply called by the water and its restless souls. Dark fire burned within the summer sky and in the misty reflection she saw death. She saw the forest tremble and the castle weep tears of blood. She smiled, through the water the archway whispered to her. Her mother's words traced lines of silver promise in her mind.

_His eyes are raw. Sitting cold on a high wall, his tears reflect only darkness. There is no light for the hopeless._

August after her fourth year and they were at war. She would fight with the rest of them, this she knew from the dreams that plagued her in the absence of the lake. Her lake. Night after night she would see future trials played before her minds eye. Yes, she would fight. And she would most likely die, but it did not worry her. Because he was always there. Angel of the night. War child. In her dreams he would bring her hope.

Perhaps it is as the romantics would believe, her soul mate, destined and linked since before conception. Or maybe as the diviners see it; she has the gift of Sight and he is her focus (for all fortune tellers have one soul whose path their inner eye is trained on).

September brings autumn back into the world. Gold and red are the colours of the day, deep purple and silver the insignia of the night. Beneath the full moon she watches them fight and play and die. The ghosts in the castle do not compare to the spirits of the lake. The Grey Lady spoke to her a week just passed. She told her that the spreading darkness would cloud her eyes; she told her that in the endless black he would need comfort.

_The rain casts a soft dark veil over the world. Through the thin grey curtain he watches as summer and autumn turn to winter and from there back to spring. He hugs his knees and pale hands reach out to him._

Samhain breezes whispered through the trees and this time she did not sit alone. He had asked her if she was scared and she had told him yes. She returned the question and he nodded, eyes bright behind glasses. "Come with me," she had said, without protest he followed. Now they sit. Stars silent as ever, the dark of the moon casting rare magic on the scene.

_Sunlight is bright but the field lays silent. A soft breeze shifts the long grass and there he lies. From his back he watches the wheeling skies, smiling. In his hand he holds a daisy._

November stretches before her and as the last warmth of the year passes she sits, his letter resting beside her. Her sixth year and his seventh. They went to Hogsmeade last weekend. His friends had detention so he joined her for butterbeer. They had talked for hours, sipping their drinks and sharing stories until the sun settled beyond the western mountains. They had walked slowly back to the castle, dread of war gratefully forgotten in their idle conversations, and at the foot of the great marble staircase they parted. The letter was received today at breakfast and she is yet to read it. She wants to see what the water had to tell her before she comes to any conclusion.

_Dusk casts its blood like glow on the wood. In a small clearing a figure sits. He holds in his hand a daisy and bathed in red he quietly sobs._

The birds are quiet in the midwinter lull and the water is cold. She does not feel it, the broken ice that floats around her not enough to catch her attention. She is watching the still pool in front of her. The water blurs and twists, distorted images forming like muggle photos in developer. There is no colour or movement yet, just still shadowy forms clinging to the surface.

_A woman sits in a dark room. There is a window behind her and her figure is silhouetted against the pale light of the crescent moon seen through the thin grey curtain._

The image focuses, colours spreading like ink. They move for her.

_She stands, the woman in the water. She faces the window, gazing through the arch as though seeing another world. To the eternal night she whispers… "Can you feel it? … Do you see me? … I can see you. It makes me sad sometimes, Harry... Will you come home? I miss you. I came here for you, you know… I want you to come home… But it is all right. I will wait... Always wait, for you. Only for you." Her tears shone in the light of life long departed. "Only for you…"_

The image fades but she does not move. Staring in silence at the grey clouds reflected before her. The last of the sun ducks away and in the departure of twilight shadows play across the water as the clouds dance in the sky. Sunlight reflected in the moon. Starlight weeping through the abyss. She had always loved the night.

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